"Chewing Down My Barn" - Eugene C. Bianchi

“Sit, rest, work.Alone with yourself, never weary.On the edge of the forestLive joyfully without desire.” --The Buddha"Chewing Down My Barn" A boutique bat house high on the barn,yet they turn up their noses.Do they expect a flashing vacancy sign?Too late to return it after ten years,despite mosquitoes in a stagnant pond.Pangs of ingratitude.Blue birds come each year to sniffour well-wrought dwellings,located according to their ownbuilding manual, shelteringtrees behind, open sward ahead,only to take up at an undeservingneighbor’s pool, rules be damned.Blame the Tea Party.The demanding wren nestsbehind the garage work bench,insisting we leave a door open at night.How does she make the point without words?How is it to be indentured to a bird?“It just isn’t his idea,” my wife saysof cat Max, Prince of Siam, who spurnsmy best offer to enjoy a soft rockeron a balmy screened porch, no mattermy lecture on feline health and fresh air.He chooses to stalk a skink by the stove,and later bellow Gregorian Chantin baritone on his nightly rounds.(I want what I want, Big White Guy.)Old age slows me down to open my eyes.Wasn’t I born to lop off mountain tops for coal,stride the moon with grand “pronunciamentos,”discover the secrets of mind/brain,tear down medieval papal absolutism,map ocean floors, and save the worldfor democracy, God and whatever?Yet this morning on the driveway,I find myself picking upan ailing carpenter bee with a fallen leaf,glad he could still buzz or growl at me,to place him under low juniper shadenear his comrades who are busychewing down my barn.Other seasons, other voices, other choices.--Eugene C. Bianchi Athens, GA, July 13, 2014(photo by Michelle Castleberry)